Gojo jumped down through the hole in the floor of his hotel room and landed lightly on the dining hall below, the faint thud of his boots echoing across the room.
By now, most of the dust from the fallen ceiling debris had begun to settle, though a thin haze still lingered in the air. Fine particles drifted lazily through the light, catching the glow of the lamps as the scattered debris lay across the dining hall floor.
The people in the hall had already turned their attention upward, murmuring among themselves, trying to figure out who had just fallen from above. The earlier commotion had been loud—far too loud to ignore—and it was clear to everyone present that all this was a result of a fight.
As soon as Gojo landed, the room seemed to still for a brief moment.
Every eye turned toward him.
He stood there calmly, sword resting in his right hand, posture relaxed but alert. A few chairs scraped faintly against the floor as people instinctively shifted back, giving him space.
At that very moment, the hotel manager came rushing in from the other side, his footsteps hurried and uneven, his voice already raised before he even took in the full scene.
When his eyes fell upon the broken ceiling and the scattered debris across the dining hall floor, his expression twisted with anger.
"Which bastards are fighting here?" he shouted, his voice cutting sharply through the murmurs. "Come out on your own, or else I will definitely have you punished severely!"
His gaze snapped toward Gojo.
The sword in Gojo's hand, the hole above, the debris—it all connected in an instant. The manager's expression hardened as he immediately concluded that this young man standing before him must be the one responsible.
But before the manager could hurl another curse at him, Gojo spoke first, his tone calm, almost casual despite the tension thickening the air.
"Don't worry about it, boss," he said, giving a slight tilt of his head. "These people tried to assassinate me here in the dead of the night, so I had no choice but to fight back." He paused for a brief moment, the faintest smile touching his lips. "But don't worry, I will give you proper compensation for all the losses that have already happened—and whatever might still happen."
A faint creak echoed behind him.
As he spoke, both Blueno and Kumadori slowly pushed themselves back onto their feet. Dust slid off their shoulders as they rose, their presence heavy and unshaken. Clearly, those two attacks from Gojo had not been enough to bring them down so easily, nor had they been severely injured. Their eyes locked onto Gojo once more, killing intent simmering beneath the surface.
Gojo glanced over his shoulder at them, his grip on the sword loosening just slightly, as if he were stretching before the real fight.
Then, turning his attention back to the crowd, he raised his voice just enough to carry across the entire hall.
"I request all of you to leave the hotel right now," he said, his tone still composed but carrying a quiet authority. "Or else, when the fight begins, you all might get caught in the crossfire."
A murmur rippled through the gathered crowd.
People exchanged uneasy glances, the weight of his words sinking in. The broken ceiling above, the debris scattered across the floor, the two men standing behind him with clear hostile intent—it didn't take much for them to understand the situation.
As soon as they processed his warning, the decision became obvious.
One by one, then in small groups, people began to move. Chairs scraped hurriedly against the floor, footsteps quickened, and hushed voices filled the air as they made their way toward the exits. No one wanted to take that risk—not when the danger was standing right in front of them.
Better safe than sorry.
Within moments, the dining hall began to empty, leaving behind only the lingering tension—and the fight that was about to unfold.
The manager also came back to his senses.
Although he had shown boldness just moments ago, the reality of the situation now pressed down on him like a heavy weight. His eyes flickered between Gojo, Blueno, and Kumadori, and he could clearly see the direction this fight was heading. This was no ordinary brawl between two people—this was a death battle. The kind where hesitation meant death.
A faint gulp escaped his throat.
He chose his next action carefully.
Without saying another word—without daring to retort or risk offending any of them—the manager slowly stepped back. He gestured subtly to the staff, who had been frozen in place, and together they began to move out of the hall, their footsteps cautious and restrained.
One by one, they exited the ground floor of the hotel.
Within moments, the dining hall—and the entire surrounding area—was left empty, an eerie silence settling in where noise had once filled the space. Only Gojo, Blueno, and Kumadori remained.
The battlefield was now theirs.
Blueno's mask, which he had worn during his attempt to assassinate Gojo, was completely shattered—fragments of it still scattered across the floor. After all, he had taken a direct punch to the face from Gojo. His expression, now fully visible, was cold and hardened, his eyes locked forward with unwavering focus.
Kumadori's mask, on the other hand, hung loosely in broken halves. It had been half-shattered by Gojo's sword strike just moments ago, right before he was sent crashing down from the upper floor—Gojo's room—onto the ground below.
A small crack echoed as Kumadori reached up.
With no one else left in the dining hall, he calmly removed the half-shattered mask, letting the broken piece fall to the floor with a dull clatter, revealing his full face at last.
Gojo's eyes lingered on him for a brief second, then a faint smirk tugged at his lips.
"I was expecting this joker kind of face from you anyways..." he said, his tone laced with casual mockery, the tension in the air tightening just a little more.
Gojo looked at both of them, his gaze calm yet sharp, as if he had already seen through everything.
"From the past few days, I knew that I was being followed by a few people whenever I was roaming around," he said, his voice steady, almost conversational. "Clearly, they did not dare to attack me. They were just keeping an eye on me."
A faint pause.
"I thought maybe they were spies of the Marines or the World Government… and I think I was spot on." His eyes flickered briefly between the two of them. "Those people were the ones who gave you both my daily routine, right?"
The silence in the hall deepened.
"You know," Gojo continued, shifting his weight slightly, the tip of his sword lowering just a fraction, "even after knowing that something as rare as Aqua Laguna is going to happen here in Water 7, I still went to sleep at the same time I usually do every day."
A faint smile touched his lips.
"I wanted to see if someone would try to attack me or not."
His eyes narrowed slightly, a glint of cold certainty passing through them.
"Because for the past four days, I could clearly sense those people following me all the way to my hotel room. Once, they even entered my room just to check if I was asleep." His tone dipped just a little.
"From that, I was able to tell that they were mapping my entire routine."
A soft exhale left him.
"I just had a hunch that today might be the best day for my assassination—with everything happening around Aqua Laguna and all."
The faint smile returned.
"And my guess was spot on. I really was assassinated by you two."
The moment his words settled, the atmosphere shifted.
Kumadori's expression hardened. Without a word, he extended his staff toward Gojo, the weapon cutting through the air with a low hum as it steadied into position. His stance grew solemn, guarded—Gojo's terrifying deduction abilities clearly weighing on him.
Blueno, on the other hand, remained far less affected.
He adjusted his posture slightly, his gaze firm and unyielding as he looked at Gojo.
"If you knew that you were being targeted by the World Government," Blueno said, his tone blunt, almost dismissive, "then you should have run away instead of staying here."
A brief pause.
"Staying here was your biggest mistake… and it will cost you your life."
After saying this, Blueno moved.
In an instant, he vanished from his spot—Shave.
The air cracked softly as he reappeared right in front of Gojo, his finger already thrust forward like a bullet, aimed straight at Gojo's chest—Finger Pistol.
But Gojo had already seen it.
With a simple, almost lazy sidestep, he shifted out of the attack's path. Blueno's strike sliced through the air, missing Gojo by mere inches, the force of it brushing past his clothes.
Fast… but not enough.
Gojo didn't waste a moment.
His sword flashed.
He swung immediately, the blade cutting through the air toward Blueno in a clean, precise arc. But Blueno reacted just as quickly—his body bending at an unnatural angle, narrowly avoiding the slash as if his bones had turned weightless.
The blade passed through empty space.
Seeing this, a flicker of surprise crossed Gojo's eyes.
Blueno's build was burly, heavy—yet he was moving with incredible speed, and now, this level of flexibility… it didn't match his physique at all. It was unnatural.
And then—
A smile slowly formed on Gojo's face.
Another technique… interesting.
Without holding back, Gojo pressed forward.
His sword came alive in his hand.
Stab. Slash. Swing.
Each movement flowed into the next, rapid and relentless, his blade carving through the air in a continuous assault. The faint whistle of steel echoed through the empty hall as he attacked Blueno from multiple angles, testing, probing, pushing.
But Blueno didn't falter.
His body moved like paper in the wind.
Using Paper Arts, he bent, twisted, and shifted with impossible flexibility, his form slipping past every strike. Each slash that should have connected instead passed through empty air, his body folding and flowing away from danger at the last possible moment.
Gojo's eyes sharpened, the Six Eyes were already at work.
Every movement, every shift in muscle, every change in balance—he was analyzing it all. Blueno's technique, the rhythm of his dodges, the mechanics behind his flexibility—nothing escaped his perception.
So this is how it works…
And just as Gojo was beginning to grasp it—
A sudden shift in the air behind him.
Kumadori moved.
From the other side, his staff shot forward in a sharp, precise thrust, cutting through the air with a focused intent. The motion was eerily similar to Finger Pistol—compressed, direct, lethal.
The tip of the staff aimed straight at Gojo.
Kumadori was using his move Finger Gun Q.
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